


Trouble in Paradise

by Ayiana



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayiana/pseuds/Ayiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jack, together, on a perfect spring day. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Set (roughly speaking) early season 9, in Atlantis. Originally written for the Revelation V fanzine and published through that venue in May of 2007.

"I'm headed to the mainland to do some exploring. Wanna come with?" Jack hooks a thumb over his shoulder in invitation.

She looks up from the computer screen and gives him a smile calculated to let him down gently. "'Fraid not, Sir. I need to finish this analysis. Dr. Weir's waiting on it."

"Aw, come on, Carter," he sidles closer while he talks, reaches for something on the workbench, and grins when she slaps his hand away. "When's the last time you got some fresh air?"

"Does the grocery store count?"

"Nope." He picks up a screwdriver, concentrates on balancing it on his finger, teeter totter style. "It's spring time, Carter. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming and you're holed up in here like a hibernating grizzly bear." He gives her a piercing look, and she knows he thinks she's been working too hard – again. "I talked to Weir. She doesn't need that analysis until tomorrow."

Sighing, she saves her file and turns to look at him. "You aren't going to let this go, are you."

He shrugs and puts the screwdriver down. "Sheppard's warming up the jumper; lunch is packed. All you have to do is say yes."

"How long?"

"Couple of hours, maybe."

"And lunch?"

"Peanut butter and banana." His grin is triumphant. He knows she has an almost Pavlovian response to the combination. "And chocolate chip cookies."

Half an hour later, Sheppard drops them off on the mainland. It's a beautiful day, and she realizes she's glad he talked her into this.

"So," she says, turning to him. "Where to?"

"There's supposed to be a great view of Atlantis from a spot about five clicks north of here." Hitching up the pack that holds their lunch, he heads off without waiting to see if she's following.

The spring air is soft against her skin, a light breeze plays in her hair, and Jack's at his witty best, keeping her laughing as they walk. Time passes quickly, and when they come out of the woods at the top of a low rise, her breath hitches in a gasp. Far below them, waves break on a narrow, rocky beach, while near the horizon she can just make out the spires of Atlantis glinting in the sun.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs.

"And to think you didn't want to come." His shoulder brushes against hers as he comes to stand beside her, and together they look out across the water.

"This is really nice, Sir."

"Yes. Isn't it." He glances at her, pleased, and she's turning to say something to him when the ground beneath her feet disappears.

There's an avalanche of dirt and rocks and shrubbery, and somewhere in the thick of it all she thinks she hears him yell, but she's too busy trying to stop her fall to respond.

She lands with a jolt, feels a snap, and cries out as fire lances up her leg. Then something slams into her head and the world goes dark.

  
***********

  
"...Carter..."

His voice comes to her through a thick fog, and she wants to ignore it, but there's an urgency to it that nags at her.

"...Carter!"

It's sharper this time, almost angry. It drags her closer to a reality she suspects she's better off without.

"Damn it, Sam! Wake up!"

He doesn't call her that very often--almost never in fact, and the novelty of it gets her attention. She struggles to open her eyes, but the lids feel heavy, and all she really wants to do is sleep.

"Wakey wakey...."

He's wheedling now.... And is that fear she hears? How odd, she thinks in a detached way, Jack isn't easily frightened. But it's the fear that motivates her to try harder, and with a great effort of will her eyelids give way to the blinding sun. Groaning, she turns her head away.

"...hurts."

There's a rustle of movement, and a shadow falls over her face.

"Try now," he says.

She cracks one eye, sees a dark form haloed by sunlight, and closes it again. "Better." Her arm is twisted beneath her, and she shifts, easing the ache. "What happened?"

"Ground gave way. Must've been all that rain we had last week."

Nearby, she hears the gentle lapping of waves, and her head finally clears enough to recognize where she is—on that narrow strip of beach she'd noticed from above. The fact that Jack's at her side means he must've fallen, too. "You okay?" The words are a little slurred, as though she's got a buzz.

"Scrapes. Bruises. Nothing major." He moves again, and somehow she knows that he's looking up at the cliff face. "I'm going to try to climb up. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah." But she's lying in an awkward position, and when she tries to move, an explosion of pain makes her gasp. His hand lands on her shoulder, its solid weight a distant comfort as she tries to breathe.

"That leg looks broken. Don't try to move it."

"Trust me," she manages through gritted teeth. "I won't."

"I'll hurry," he says, and gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Don't go away."

He's trying to make her smile, but right now it's all she can do not to cry, so she just grits her teeth and nods her head.

Then he's gone, and the sun returns to send needles of pain through her scull. She turns her head away and listens for the sound of Jack's ascent.

But all she hears is silence and the steady lapping of water, which means he's either an incredibly talented climber or not going anywhere. Then he curses and she knows the news won't be good.

Moments later, he's back. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while," he says.

"No luck?" His shadow blocks the sun again, and she cracks an eye to look at him.

He shakes his head. "There's no place to get a grip."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He looks out over the water. "And the radio's in my pack."

"Which is up there."

"Got it in one."

She considers that as well as she can past the throbbing headache. "Someone will come."

He doesn't answer because they both know it could be a long time before anybody gets worried enough to send out a search party.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't suppose you know anything about Lantean tide tables..."

He snorts. "This is me you're talking to, Carter."

"I'll take that as a no." She squints at the narrow beach. "Sand's wet."

"Yep."

"So we're not at high tide."

"Not likely."

She supposes she could figure out whether the tide's coming in or going out, but her head hurts too much to think about it right now.

"We'll be out of here before becomes a problem."

But his voice holds that note that says he's being her CO, downplaying the danger in the hopes of keeping her calm.

It won't do any good to worry, so she focuses on trying to get comfortable. Using her hands for leverage, she tries to push herself to a sitting position, but when she moves her leg, a shaft of pain stops her and she winces. A moment later he's behind her. He puts his hands under her arms and lifts, pulling her backward until she's leaning against a pile of rubble, her legs stretched out in front of her.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Better." She tries to smile her thanks, but an unexpected shiver chases it away.

He's watching her, and she can tell he's thinking about something. Then he settles down by her side. Easing an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her close. The unaccustomed physical contact startles her, and she gives him a quizzical look.

"Sir?"

"You're going into shock, Carter. I'm just trying to keep you warm."

"Oh." She has her eyes all the way open now, and as long as she doesn't look directly at the sun the pain is manageable. But she wants to sleep, and even though she recognizes the feeling as a danger sign, her eyes start to slide closed. It's just...easier.

"Carter."

"Hmmm?" She mumbles, already drifting off.

"Talk to me, Carter."

"About what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"...tired." Her head slips down to rest on his shoulder. She loves his shoulder. It's solid, and comforting, and she doesn't get to enjoy it nearly as often as she'd like. But she figures a concussion is excuse enough for today.

He shrugs slightly, jostling her, and she grumbles in annoyance. "Tell me about your mother."

Her eyes slit open. "My mother?"

"Sure."

"But why...?"

He gives an exasperated sigh. "There aren't any decent skipping stones, the food's up there, and I'm bored. So talk to me."

His petulant tone might've amused her had the circumstances been different, but she's too busy dealing with a sudden bout of nausea to be amused. She swallows hard. Not here. Not now. Pain she can deal with. Puking on her CO...not so much.

To distract herself, she lets an image of her mother form in her mind. It isn't something she does often, because memories of her mother almost inevitably lead to memories of her mother's death. This time, though, the image is comforting.

"She used to hum Christmas carols while she did the dishes," she remembers.

"Even in July?"

She can hear his amusement, and she smiles. "Even in July."

"That's...odd," he says diplomatically.

"We used to tease her about it, but she'd just smile and say it made the work go faster."

"Yes, but...Christmas carols? I mean, how many times can you hum Jingle Bells without going a little bit whacko?"

"Actually, her favorite was 'White Christmas'."

"Well, that's something, anyway." But she feels him shake his head in bemusement.

"What about your mother, Sir?"

He stiffens. "What about her?"

"What's she like?"

There's no response at first, and she's starting to think maybe she's crossed a line she shouldn't have when he finally answers.

"She died of cancer," he says. "Back when I was in Special Ops."

She lifts her head to look at him, but his face is turned away from her, and the tension in his jaw tells her to let it go, so she does. "What about your dad?"

"Heart attack. Just before Abydos."

Mother, father, and son in the space of a few short years. It explains some things about him.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"A brother."

He doesn't offer any details, and she doesn't want to pry, so she lets her head settle back on his shoulder. The nausea isn't quite as bad now, but she's still sleepy.

"Why'd you join the Air Force?"

The question startles her, bringing her eyes open again as she lifts her head. "Excuse me?"

"That time we went to Washington...I got the feeling you and your dad weren't close."

Bit of an understatement, she thinks. "We weren't for a long time."

"So why the Air Force? You could've written your own ticket."

"The Air Force was supposed to be my ticket...to the space program." She smiles ruefully. "It's what Dad and I argued about in Washington. He'd wrangled a spot for me at NASA and couldn't understand why I'd turn it down for deep space radar telemetry."

He gives a low chuckle. "The gate must've been quite a revelation."

"Rather."

The waterline is closer now. The tide is definitely coming in.

"I don't suppose you gave Sheppard any kind of timeframe," she says, watching the creeping waves.

He shakes his head. "Said I'd radio when we were ready."

A small bird dashes through the trailing foam, reminding her of the funny little sand pipers she's seen on the beaches back home. Beside her, Jack coughs, and she glances over at him in time to see him swipe blood from his lips.

"Sir?" she remembers the last time she saw him cough up blood, remembers that he almost died.

But he shakes his head. "I'm fine, Carter." His tone doesn't brook any argument, but she knows him better now than she did then.

"How bad is it?"

"If I had to guess?" he throws her a sardonic look; he's had rather too much experience with internal injuries. "I'd guess it's a couple of ribs. Cracked. And no," he grins crookedly, "I don't want you to take a look."

She snorts her amusement, but it makes her head ache again so she goes back to leaning on his shoulder. The waves are coming almost to her feet now. She watches them without comment. He undoubtedly realizes just exactly how much trouble they could be in if Sheppard doesn't show up soon, so bringing it up would be pointless.

"Think you can move?" He asks.

"Where to?" The tiny shelf of a beach they're on doesn't look to provide much high ground.

"Figured I'd try to shove some of those rocks closer together." He gestures with his chin. "Get us up a little higher, at least."

She looks at the rocks in question, only they're more like boulders, really, and how he plans on moving them with a pair of cracked ribs is beyond her. Biting her lip to keep from groaning, she pulls her good leg up beneath her, and bracing herself against the rock wall at her back struggles to her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"If you can move boulders with those ribs," she says, "I can do it with this leg."

He stares at her for a second; then pride sparks in his eyes and he stands up beside her. "Let's get it done."

This, she thinks, might be the only good that ever comes of those ballet lessons she took as a kid. She hops over to the closest boulder and braces herself against it. In a moment, they're shoulder to shoulder.

"The way I figure it," he says, "if we push a few of these up against that wall, we can climb up on top, maybe buy ourselves some time."

The high tide line, visible several feet above their heads, mocks this suggestion, but she doesn't point that out. Instead, she drops her eyes to the lean fingers resting beside hers on the boulder, and nods.

"One...two...three!"

By the time it's done they're both breathing heavily, but eventually they have a crude platform assembled. He's pale, his eyes pain-pinched, but she doesn't mention it because she knows it would only irritate him. Instead they lean against the rocks, catching their breath and watching the steadily encroaching water.

"Right," he says a moment later. "Let's get you up there."

It's something she hadn't thought about – how to climb onto the roughly three foot high "platform" with a broken leg. She eyes it doubtfully. "Sir, I don't think..."

"No thinking required, Carter."

"But..."

"You argue with me long enough and we're both going to drown." He coughs, swears softly, and glares at her. "Look. Can we just get this over with?"

She sighs. He's stubborn, and cranky, and it'd be just like him to insist on staying down here with her instead of climbing to safety. "Just...give me a second, okay?"

The rocks, worn smooth by the water, don't offer any obvious solutions, so she turns her gaze to the other end of the narrow beach. There, near the cliff wall, is the answer.

"Help me with this," she says, hobbling towards it.

It's a smaller rock than the others, and it doesn't take them long to roll it over to their makeshift platform.

"That should work," she says, when she's satisfied.

The water laps at their ankles now. They need to move quickly. Nodding, Jack climbs up; then turns to face her.

"Ready?" he says.

"Yeah." She sits down on the smaller rock, presses her back against the one behind it, and supporting herself with her hands, tucks her good leg under her, the same way she had earlier. She feels him catch her under the arms and lift, and when he does, she pushes up with her good leg, trying to help.

It isn't easy, but they manage it, and a few minutes later they're settled with their backs against the rock wall again.

"Well..." Jack says, and she can hear the lingering pain in his voice. "That was fun."

But she can't work up the energy to answer him, so she tilts her head back against the rocks and closes her eyes.

"Carter."

"Hmm?"

"Carter. Wake up."

"Too tired."

"It's the concussion, Carter. You have to stay awake." He jostles her shoulder, but he has to do it twice more before she opens her eyes enough to glare at him.

"What?"

"I'm bored again." And he gives her that hopeful little boy look that usually charms her, but today it's just annoying.

"So go count seashells or something."

"There aren't any."

"How about a swim?" Preferably a long one. She's irritated now. She wants to sleep, and he won't let her.

"No suit." The tone is innocent, but it sends her mind spinning off in directions that push the idea of sleep aside.

"I won't look." But it's a lie, and they both know it, and suddenly there's something new in the air between them, a subtle tension that makes her too aware of the way his shoulder and thigh brush against hers.

Their eyes meet, and something in his speaks of more than just comradely good humor--something warm, and intimate, and affectionate. The silent conversation lasts for several seconds while water laps against their perch and the sun dips toward the horizon.

Then her mind screams a warning, and she tears her gaze away to stare out over the water, taking a deep breath to quiet her unsteady pulse.

"Okay..." he says after a moment. "So...no swimming."

A smile tugs at her lips. "Maybe not today."

"Soon?" That hopeful note is back in his voice, but she dare not analyze it too closely.

"Soon."

The simple exchange eases the tension, and she relaxes against him, her head settling once more into the comfort of his shoulder.

"How's the leg?"

"Not great." And pushing boulders around on a sandy beach hadn't helped matters much.

"It's swelling a bit."

"Yeah." Broken bones tend to do that, she thinks. But she doesn't bother saying it aloud.

"Here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocket knife. Bending over her, he slits her pant leg from knee to ankle, careful not to cut the skin beneath. The pain eases a little, and she sighs in relief.

"Thanks."

"Sure thing." He closes the knife, stows it in his pocket, and leans back again.

"How're the ribs?" She asks.

"They're fine." Which probably means they hurt like hell, but he doesn't want to talk about it.

"Sure you don't want me to take a look?"

The look he gives her is one of amused disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"Just thought I'd offer," but she smiles back, and together they turn to study the advancing tide.

It won't be long before the water breaches their crude fortress, and Sam knows that if Sheppard doesn't show up soon they're going to have bigger problems than a few broken bones.

"Sir...what if he doesn't get here on time?"

"Not gonna happen, Carter."

She knows his answer is one part faith and three parts bravado--hadn't really expected anything else from him. Still, the odds aren't exactly in their favor at the moment, and she can't help remembering the last time they found themselves injured, stranded, and alone. The memory brings another along with it.

"Sir, when we were stranded in Antarctica, you said that you'd regret dying."

She feels his eyes on her, but she doesn't look at him. "Yeah...So?"

"So if Sheppard doesn't come..."

"I'd still regret dying."

And now she does turn, her gaze meeting and holding his once more. She's risking a lot with her next question, but she decides that if it ever comes back to haunt her she can blame it on the concussion. "Is that all you'd regret?"

Seconds pass while he stares at her, and she can almost see the battle taking place behind his eyes. Then the moment passes as he looks away. "I'd regret missing the World Cup finals," he says.

Disappointment washes over her. With a sigh, she turns away from him.

"Carter..." His voice trails off into silence.

"Sir?"

He starts to speak, stops, shakes his head. "Never mind."

The water is lapping at her feet now, and she pulls her good leg up underneath her body to keep it dry a little longer. Beside her, Jack stands up and peers into the distance.

"See anything?" She asks.

"Nope."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say after that, so they subside into silence.

The next thing she knows he's shaking her shoulder.

"On your feet, Carter." The urgency is back in his voice, but it takes her a moment to realize she's sitting in several inches of water. Jack's pulling at her, urging her up, and with a groan she struggles to her feet.

"We're running out of time," she says, blinking down at the water swirling around her ankles.

"Yeah. Noticed that."

She turns to look at the cliff face, even though she knows it hasn't changed since the last time. There's no way, she thinks. No way at all to climb up it. And yet...

"Maybe you could swim."

"Swim where?"

"Along the coastline. Maybe you can make it to another beach."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not leaving you behind."

"Sir, that doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm the senior officer here, Carter. I don't have to make sense."

"Pardon the disrespect, Sir, but that's just about the stupidest thing you've ever said!"

"Carter..."

She ignores the warning in his voice and rushes ahead. "If you'd left right after we fell, we might both be out of here by now."

"Or...we could both be dead."

It isn't like him to take the path of least resistance, so the fact that he's doing it now puzzles her. He shakes his head and tries to explain even though they both know he doesn't have to.

"You have a concussion, Carter. And a broken leg. If I'd left, who would've kept you awake?"

"I've done it before, Sir." But the memory of her experience on the Prometheus makes her shudder.

"Doesn't mean you could do it again."

"No, but..."

"No buts. It's a command decision."

She doesn't argue, but she doesn't agree with him, either. At this point, the question is moot anyway. Time has run out.

The water is up to her knees now and rising fast, and each time a wave jostles her injured leg she has to bite back a cry of pain.

"Turn around."

She raises an eyebrow at him and he shrugs impatiently. "You'll have better balance if the water's behind you."

The difference would be marginal at best, but if she faces the wall she might be able to get at least a rudimentary grip on the cliff face--enough to keep the tide from dragging her off the rocks, at least.

The combination of broken leg and swirling water makes movement difficult, and afterwards she leans into the wall, her cheek pressed against its face while her hands scrabble for something to hold onto. Her shoes and pants are heavy with cold water, and shivers overtake her again, temporarily freeing her mind from the stupor of injury induced drowsiness.

She stiffens in surprise as Jack moves behind her, positioning himself between her and the oncoming waves, his body snug against her back.

There's a note of suppressed worry in his voice when he speaks, his voice close to her ear. "I'd suggest we try Plan B, but I'm not sure there is one for this."

She turns her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his nose. "You really should go, Sir. You can still save yourself."

"Oh, there's not a chance in hell, Carter."

"Sir...Jack, this is insane. There's no reason we should both die like this."

"Nobody's going to die. Not today. And not like this."

His voice is steely, determined, and she knows what he's trying to say. Death by drowning would certainly be an anticlimactic finale to their careers. But if it is going to end like this, on a deserted stretch of rock encrusted beach thousands of light years from home, there's one thing she has to do first, one loose end she has to tie up.

She licks salt spray from her lips, her voice thin as she forces it past chattering teeth.

"It's been an honor serving with you, Sir." The words are both everything...and nothing at all, but even now she can't quite put aside the reserve she's lived by for so many years.

Somehow he seems to understand, his body relaxing more closely into hers as they both press forward into the cliff.

"You too, Colonel....Sam."

And somewhere beyond the cold, and the pain, and the fear, she could swear she hears regret.

The last thing she feels is the caress of his lips against her neck.

  
***********

  
Awareness returns in a haze of bright lights and hushed voices. Now and then a snippet of conversation flickers into momentary clarity before slipping out of her grasp and sliding into oblivion.

"...hours..."

"...waking up soon...?"

"...lucky..."

She wants to tell the voices to shut up and go away, but all she can manage is a weak groan.

The sound touches off a flurry of activity around her, and then Beckett's distinctive voice. "Give the poor girl room to breathe!"

There's a burst of irritated grumbling before most of the voices slide away. "Easy, luv. You've a nasty bump on the head there."

She wants to snort at this because seriously, does he think she doesn't know? But the best she can do is a sandpaper whisper. "General O'Neill...?"

"He's going to be fine, Colonel." Beckett gives her a wry grin. "He's been driving all of us crazy wanting to know when you were going to wake up."

"Hey!" Jack's voice comes from the bed next to hers, and she smiles. He's irritated, and bored, and probably asking six times a minute when he can get up, and yet his voice is still the best sound she's ever heard.

"The general saved your life, you know." Beckett's voice is conversational as he putters around checking pulse, blood pressure, and whatever else it is that doctors do when their patients wake up.

"He did...?" She looks over at Jack, but he's staring at the ceiling.

"Aye." Beckett takes off the pressure cuff and sets it aside. "I hear he was holding you up and treading water when the jumper arrived. According to Sheppard, it looked like he'd been doing it for a while."

Sam doesn't remember any of this.

"I don't know how he did it." Beckett shakes his head as he looks over at Jack. "Two fractured ribs and internal bleeding. It's a wonder he survived."

"Broken...?" Jack had said he thought they were only cracked. Had he known all along? Her gaze settles on her CO again, but he's still studying the ceiling.

"There." Beckett finishes his inspection and adjusts her blanket. Then he reaches for the switch to dim the lights. "Best get some rest, now. I'll be back to check on you in a little while."

And with that he departs, leaving the two of them alone in the darkened room with only the steady beeping of Beckett's machines to break the silence.

"Sir...?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Carter."

It isn't what she expected, and for a second she stares at him in surprise. Then she thinks about what it might've been like had the tables been turned and realizes that the entire fiasco is probably something he'd just as soon forget.

"I just want to say," she hesitates, swallows. There's so much she wants to say, about how she respects him, and how much he means to her, and how incredibly, absolutely worthless her life would be without him. "Thank you."

His grin is fleeting, but there's enough light in the room to see the warmth in his eyes. "Next time?" he says. "You're bringing the sandwiches."


End file.
